


The Room of Accidental Geometry

by Rroselavy



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-27
Updated: 2011-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-23 02:41:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rroselavy/pseuds/Rroselavy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In post-WWII Japan, enemies become allies, baseball is played, and love takes hold as Kyoto begins to recover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Room of Accidental Geometry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samsarapine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samsarapine/gifts).



> With much thanks to kispexi2 and silverr for betaing.

Cho Hakkai wiped the chalk dust from his hands and turned to face his students. Despite the post-war poverty that gripped the nation, each child was dressed in a smartly starched uniform. The bell sounded and the class rose in unison and stood by their desks, waiting eagerly to be dismissed for lunch. Hakkai walked to the door and opened it, then waited for the children to form two neat, parallel lines, boys to the right, girls to the left.

As much as he’d wanted to despise the educational reforms that the occupation forces had pushed upon the school system, Hakkai knew that the intervention was overall a positive one: he had enough composition books and brand-new textbooks (devoid of devotion to the Emperor or any reference to Japan’s rich feudal history), pencils, pens and crayons for each and every one of the children. And that wasn’t all. At lunch, his students were welcomed at the mess hall of the local military base to which the new school building -- also erected by the Allied occupation forces -- was adjacent. It was a charmless building: squat, square, and made of cinderblock. Its flat roof was made of corrugated tin that, in a hard rain raised such a ruckus he had to shout to be heard. Fortunately the builders had been generous with windows, so natural light flooded the interior. Inside, the classrooms still smelled faintly of fresh paint, varnish, and floor wax. He’d organized his room before the school year started and, even now, weeks in, every book was still sorted and slotted alphabetically, and the students’ work hung on the bulletin boards in perfect alignment. There was nary a dust mote in the sunbeams that shone through the windows.

 _I like to wash,  
the dust of this world  
In the droplets of dew._

The students didn’t seem to mind the strange, western-style meals that they politely lined up for at the commissary, either. Hakkai supposed that children were far more resilient than adults, and full bellies -- if only for one meal a day five days a week -- were better than mass starvation.

He watched his class join with several others in the large cafeteria. For the most part, the occupying soldiers treated the people they’d been charged with caring for with deference and respect. Hakkai was often addressed as _sensei_ by the Americans, even if he was at times younger than the soldier addressing him.

The men went out of their way to be kind to the school children. They treated them to small squares of chocolate on occasion, and had taken to teaching the boys how to play the American game of baseball. They loved the game --perhaps for the exotic mitts and balls and bats that they were given -- and recesses had become opportunities for sandlot games, usually coached and umpired by soldiers on their lunch break.

Much of the responsibility of the occupied forces was to rebuild Kyoto’s dilapidated infrastructure. As they cleaned up the city alongside the few able-bodied citizens left, they collected games and toys from abandoned houses and donated the least damaged to the school. Hakkai didn’t want to think about all the children who no longer had use for their toys and games. Those thoughts would invariably lead to memories of his sister, Kanan.

The largesse of the Allied occupation had come too late to save her life. Instead, he’d watched her die inch by inch, huddled in a makeshift shelter, unable to find enough food to stave off starvation, or medicine to ease the symptoms of tuberculosis. She died in his arms two days before the Allies arrived in Kyoto.

With the children safely deposited for their meal, Hakkai set out on his daily walk. He headed toward the Kiyomizu-dera monastery, which seemed as if it had escaped much of the destruction that had befallen the city. Hakkai secretly maintained it was the willful ill-temper of the temple’s young leader, Genjyo Sanzo, that had protected the sacred structure and grounds from being damaged.

Hakkai was fond of the monk and the orphaned young man that he’d allowed to stay at the temple. Goku had shown up one day soon after the war ended with no memory of his past, save for his name, a strong back, and an eagerness to work. Hakkai was envious. It wasn’t such a bad thing to be amnesic; it certainly didn’t seem to bother Goku, if his unflinching optimism was anything to go by, and there were many things in his own life that Hakkai wished he couldn’t remember.

Hakkai was not Buddhist. After their parents were killed in an accident when they were very young, he and Kanan were raised in a Catholic orphanage in Kyoto, and grateful as they were for the charity, had made their commitment to the Church. After Kanan’s death, though, Hakkai’s grief would not allow him peace with the Christian God and so he turned his back on Catholicism. Sanzo, however, was not inclined to make the case for Buddhism. Once, when Hakkai had enquired about his religion, he’d only replied, “You can sum it up with one phrase: ‘All life is suffering,’” and while Hakkai felt an affinity toward the sentiment, he didn’t need an organized religion in order to embrace it. Sanzo, for his part, was singularly uninterested in proselytizing, but he didn’t mind Hakkai’s company. Hakkai had a sneaking suspicion that it was his culinary expertise and his willingness to prepare and cook meals for the three of them that kept him in good standing.

Hakkai walked along streets that had once been lined with neat houses and welcoming, serene gardens where cicadas and birds sang under the warm rays of the sun. Now the roads were dusty and the air was filled with the sounds of tanks and heavy construction machinery. The people were grateful to the Americans. Where once there had been hatred and mistrust to the point where many families had died at their own hands rather than submit to the invasive forces, now a tentative peace existed, one that grew stronger with each passing day and each good deed completed.

 _The whole country devastated,  
only mountains and rivers remain.  
In springtime at the ruined capital,  
the grass is always green._

The poem came to Hakkai, unbidden, and, with it followed a fresh wave of melancholy. Kanan had loved Basho’s poetry. After she died, Hakkai had picked up her sole prized possession -- a worn copy of the master’s works -- and committed dozens of his haiku to memory.

“Good day, Sanzo-sama,” Hakkai called out as he approached the vegetable garden Goku had planted in the spring. Goku was stooped low, weeding and carefully harvesting ripe vegetables as he went along between the rows. Sanzo leaned against the plank fence, smoking and casually tossing insults at Goku’s bare back. He nodded in Hakkai’s direction.

Hakkai was amazed at the monk’s resourcefulness. Cigarettes were very dear, and yet he always seemed to have one hanging from his lip or waving in his hand. He’d also managed to acquire a firearm -- a western pistol of some sort -- even though, as part of the terms of surrender, the entire population of the country had been forced to give up anything that resembled a weapon, including ceremonial _katanas_ that were family heirlooms.

The weapon had come in handy, though -- not for defending the temple from looting, but rather for the gruesome-yet-humanitarian effort of putting down the huge population of feral dogs that had been afflicted by distemper, among other lethal diseases. Sanzo had completed the task with grim determination.

The local American commander -- Colonel Kenneth Samuels -- had taken a liking to Sanzo as well. On more nights than not, he would make his way from his military barracks to sit under the deep eaves of the temple veranda that looked over the city. As Hakkai and Goku played _hanafuda_ , the colonel and the monk -- two men from two different generations and cultures -- would sit together, calmly talking about philosophy, and world politics while smoking tobacco (Sanzo’s rolled in cigarette form and the colonel’s tamped in the bowl of a pipe) and drinking pot after pot of hot sake.

The colonel had been something of a _shinnichi_ before the war, and he spoke Japanese fluently and was adroit at reading and writing _kanji_. His obvious respect for Japan’s cultural heritage, coupled with his iron-fisted control of his troops sealed his position of authority and garnered unabashed adoration from the Japanese people he was put in charge of. He was not an arrogant man, however, and his outward humility only further endeared him to the population.

One of his first orders upon arrival was the dismantling of the “comfort stations” that had been readied to satisfy the appetites of the influx of healthy young Americans, while at the same time protecting the modesty of the rest of the Japanese women and girls. Colonel Samuels promised that any assaults by his men upon Japanese citizens would be investigated and prosecuted to the fullest extent of his authority and, after a couple of soldiers were brought up on charges as proof of his commitment, soldiers and civilians lived peacefully side-by-side.

“Hey Hakkai! Look what I’ve got for dinner tonight! Can you teach me how to cook ‘em?” Goku held up three glossy eggplants. He must have grown up on a farm, or in a household with a large garden, Hakkai mused. He certainly had a green thumb. In addition to eggplant, he was cultivating pepper, cucumber, cabbage, carrot, radish, mizuna and komatsuna.

 _A cool fall night--  
getting dinner, we peeled  
eggplants, cucumbers. _

“I have eggs for you, too!” Goku had also managed to acquire several hens. They were barely alive when Goku found them, but he’d nursed them to health and now they laid approximately a dozen eggs a day.

Hakkai knew that Goku could easily have eaten all those eggs himself, but Sanzo forbade it, insisting that Hakkai receive two each day as payment for his cooking. It was a comfortable arrangement, and Hakkai appreciated the protein supplement.

“Goku, I brought you something.” Hakkai pulled a worn leather baseball glove out of his carryall. Inside the pocket was a pink rubber ball.

Goku squinted at the mitt.

“It’s a baseball glove, I thought you might like to come to the school at recess tomorrow and learn to play.”

Goku looked at Sanzo hopefully. The monk ground out his cigarette. “He’s got chores to do.” Goku’s shoulders slumped, but he didn’t argue.

“Well, maybe some other time then,” Hakkai said mildly.

The rest of his break passed pleasantly, with Hakkai promising, as always, to return for dinner. Before he left, Sanzo stopped him. “Samuels is looking for a tutor for one of his men. Do you think you might be interested?”

Both he and Sanzo were bilingual: he because the brothers in the orphanage were Americans, and Sanzo, well, like everything else about the man, because he was Sanzo. Hakkai suspected the monk had been asked first.

“Why didn’t you agree?”

“I already have one pain in the ass.”

Hakkai pondered the request. “Colonel Samuels has been quite generous with the school, I suppose could.”

 

When he returned for dinner, Sanzo asked Hakkai if he could procure a second baseball mitt.

 

+++

 

“Hey.”

Hakkai looked up from the papers he was grading. The children were all doing exceptionally well in their studies. He didn’t know why this surprised him; education had always been paramount in Japan. Perhaps it was because it was so _normal_ , and life had been anything but normal for several years.

“May I help you?”

“The Colonel said that you would give me lessons.”

The soldier who leaned casually against the frame of the open classroom door looked about Hakkai’s age. He was tall and thin with a shock of red hair that had grown out of its regulation crew cut. He looked vaguely familiar to Hakkai and he searched his memory to try and place him. Of course, he was one of the fellows who taught baseball at recess.

“Sha,” Hakkai said, reading the name off his uniform. He looked at his face. Yes, he could see the traces of Japanese ancestry in the slight curve around his eyes.

“That would be me.” He stepped forward, grinning. “Corporal Gojyo Sha.”

Hakkai rose and shook the offered hand, satisfied that he was able to stop himself from the automatic bow that threatened. That was the old way.

Gojyo’s grip was firm and warm; Hakkai felt flushed from its heat.

“Pleased to meet you, Corporal Sha. Cho Hakkai. You can call me _sensei_ or Hakkai.”

“’Kay. On one condition. I’m Gojyo, only my men need to call me Corporal.”

Gojyo was a handsome man. Up close, Hakkai could see two faint scars on his left cheek. They looked to be an old wound, one that predated the War, and did nothing to mar the chiseled sweep of his high cheekbones, or the razor straightness of his nose. His eyes were an extraordinary reddish-brown -- they almost matched the color of his hair -- and were framed by the longest lashes Hakkai had ever seen. And his lips, they were full and curved in an inviting smile … Hakkai dropped his gaze; it was impolite to stare.

“Gojyo it is, then.”

Gojyo had broad shoulders that tapered nicely into a trim waist, the hint of hipbones shaping the belt that cinched it. The stale scent of tobacco smoke mingled with a musky aftershave. The scent made Hakkai’s toes curl.

“So, when can we start?”

“N-not today, I’m afraid. I already have an obligation.” Hakkai said quickly. It wasn’t a lie; he’d have to work something out with Sanzo and Goku about their dinners.

“Tomorrow, then?”

“Yes. Four PM.” That would give him time to finish looking over his students’ work.

“I’ll see you at sixteen hundred, tomorrow.”

With that, Gojyo Sha was gone, and Hakkai remembered to exhale.

 

+++

 

As Hakkai expected, Goku was distraught at his news.

“You can’t stop coming over for dinner, you always have!”

“Things, change, Goku,” Sanzo said over the top of the newspaper he was reading. It was American; he’d already laid aside the local paper. The colonel must have brought it.

“Couldn’t ya do lessons here? We have all those empty classrooms.”

“I’d have to see if Gojyo would be amenable to that.”

Sanzo’s eyebrow raised but he continued reading his paper. He hadn’t nixed the idea, which was a hopeful sign, and Hakkai thought Goku’s suggestion was an excellent one, because then he wouldn’t be alone with Gojyo. It wasn’t that Hakkai felt frightened by Gojyo, it was more that he scared himself. In their brief meeting, Gojyo had stirred something deep inside Hakkai -- some sort of _feeling_ \-- and until now he’d been quite comfortable remaining numb.

“Something interesting in the news, Sanzo?”

“Interesting that you’re on a first-name basis with your new student.”

Heat burned Hakkai’s cheeks. “It’s his preference,” he said quietly.

Sanzo returned to reading his paper.

“Hey, Hakkai! I’m learning American! Sanzo’s teaching me.”

“That’s nice, Goku, but it’s English.” Goku’s revelation answered one question Hakkai had about what he and the monk did to pass the time.

“Maybe you could take on Goku, too.” Sanzo said as he continued to read.

“That wasn’t our agreement,” Hakkai retorted, then instantly felt remorseful. Sanzo had been generous to him; he’d been the only religious leader willing to officiate over Kanan’s simple funeral in a timely fashion; the rest had long exhausted themselves from the steady stream of mourners and had met Hakkai’s request with jaundiced eyes.

 _Will we meet again?  
Here at your flowering grave:  
two white butterflies_

He’d also welcomed Hakkai, in his uniquely unwelcoming manner, into his and Goku’s life. Their friendship was his anchor to reality.

“I thought Americans spoke American?” Goku asked, puzzled.

Sanzo only sighed.

“Well, yes, technically, Goku, Americans speak _American_ English,” Hakkai said patiently.

Goku digested that statement. “Okay, so it _is_ American, then.”

Sanzo rolled his eyes, but he held his tongue. Goku cleared the table and took the dishes to the sink for washing. Almost out of habit, Hakkai rose, but then remembered that Sanzo had charged Goku with the chore. After a couple of broken plates and swats with Sanzo’s _harisen_ Goku had become an adequate dish-washer.

“Doesn’t it make you angry,” Hakkai started, “The Occupation, that is?” The Americans had been in Kyoto for several months, but Hakkai had never broached the subject before.

“Does it make you angry?” Sanzo set his paper aside.

“I just find it hard to accept that they spent years carpet-bombing our cities and towns, which killed so many of our elderly and women and children, and now they want to help us rebuild our nation. They’re … very kind … it’s hard to comprehend.”

“Would you rather us left to our own devices? We were starving to death. Starving people can’t rebuild a country.”

“But they were our enemy. The Emperor said such awful things about them.“

“The Emperor is just a man, like you and I. We were living in a dream --his dream -- then. This is reality.”

Hakkai contemplated all the suicides and other atrocities that had occurred because of what the Emperor and the ministers in his Cabinet had told the nation about the American barbarians. Some of those very same officials, along with leaders of the Imperial Army, were being brought to trial on war crimes and would probably hang, but the Emperor and his family had been granted immunity.

It seemed to Hakkai that he had more than enough shame and anger to go around.

“I would think that you, being raised Catholic, would understand the Americans’ behavior. Isn’t it called ‘penance’?”

“How much penance would forgive the havoc the Allies wreaked upon Japan? And was all the blood shed by our innocent enough to repair the damage our leaders inflicted on the enemies we selected?”

“It will be future generations who finally untangle all the wrongs have been done, or not. Right now, the narrative belongs to the victors.”

“Those aren’t very grateful words.”

Sanzo shrugged and sipped his tea.

 _A monk sips morning tea,  
it's quiet,  
the chrysanthemum's flowering._

“Do you know that Kyoto was the first target of the Bomb? It’s ironic that the Americans decided on Hiroshima instead.”

“Why is it ironic?”

Sanzo put down the paper. Hakkai glanced at the headline banner that ran across the page and read: _International Military Tribunal Exposes New Crimes Against Humanity_. His stomach turned.

“Because it was founded by Catholic missionaries.”

“Do you think they knew when they planned it?”

Sanzo snorted. “Samuels knows the history of Hiroshima, but he’s a rare bird.”

“Why did they spare Kyoto?” Looking down at the city from the hillside they were on, Hakkai was bitterly amused by his own word choice. While it was true that Kyoto hadn’t been leveled like most of Japan, its citizens had not escaped harm completely, and they had suffered equally the starvation and disease that followed the War.

“The US Secretary of War visited Kyoto once when he was younger. He thought the city was charming.”

“’Charming.’” Hakkai echoed. “Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn’t have been better to have been in Nagasaki or Hiroshima.”

“That’s a coward’s way out. Being in Hiroshima or Nagasaki didn’t guarantee death, either, at least not the quick and easy one you’re talking about.”

Sanzo’s words shocked Hakkai. He didn’t know what it was like to lose someone he loved! Or, maybe he did -- of course he did. There wasn’t anyone alive in Japan who’d been spared that loss, except, perhaps, the royal family. He wondered how Hirohito could sleep at night with the knowledge of the ruins he’d led his people toward.

 _"How pitiful"  
beneath the warrior helmet  
cries of a cricket_

“Easy to say,” he said carefully, “when you can hold the way out in the palm of your hands.”

“Which is exactly why I can say it,” Sanzo said quietly, “and each day you walk through that gate and see that I’m still alive supports my argument.”

“What stops you?”

Sanzo glanced at Goku, who continued to labor at the sink. Hakkai followed his gaze, taking in Goku’s broad shoulders and the muscles that rippled underneath his shirt. He wondered if he would still be able to count Goku’s ribs as he had in the winter. Past Goku’s head, Hakkai gazed out the window. The building they were in had been built in a clearing surrounded by centuries-old trees. The sunlight filtered through the riot of leaves and cast the light in a vibrant golden-green.

 _It is with awe  
That I beheld  
Fresh leaves, green leaves,  
Bright in the sun._

“I’m not ready for my next turn at the wheel.” Sanzo ground his cigarette out in the ashtray by his side..

Hakkai thought a change of subject was in order. “Do you think it would be all right if I did bring Corporal Sha here for lessons? I could continue to cook dinner then.”

“Whatever. It’s not like I have any say in the matter.” Sanzo gave Hakkai a sideways look.

“Thank you, Sanzo.” It was foolish, but he felt safer already.

“I ought to kill you, you know.”

“Pardon?”

“You and that goddamn baseball. He has me out in the field beyond the temple every night, playing catch. My arm is killing me.”

“You don’t have to throw so hard, Sanzo,” Goku groused from where he was drying the dishes.

 

+++

 

The sky had been threatening rain all morning and the air was damp with moisture. Hakkai considered making the first of his daily treks to the monastery, and then decided against it. He’d need to be nearby to collect the children from recess should the skies open up.

Hakkai ate his bento at his desk; Goku’s garden provided him with enough food that he didn’t have to depend on the commissary and Hakkai believed it would be selfish to eat there when he had his own source of food. It meant there would be one more meal for someone more needy than he.

His tutoring was going well; Gojyo was bright, and he seemed to pick up the language with incredible facility. He wondered if Gojyo had known Japanese at one time. Thinking about Gojyo and their lessons was dangerous territory. Gojyo, very much like Goku, brimmed with life and the expectancy that he could wring the most out of every minute.

Of course, Gojyo didn’t tell Hakkai these things; they were just evident in the zest with which he approached his lessons, whether he was giving them on a baseball field, or receiving them in an old monastic class room.

When Hakkai had first approached Gojyo with his proposition, the American had rubbed the back of his neck and darted his eyes about Hakkai’s classroom nervously. Apparently, Sanzo’s reputation preceded him. To press his point, Hakkai observed, “You’re not going to be comfortable sitting at one of my students’ desks. They’re much too small.”

And it was a good point; except he couldn’t be certain that a classroom at the monastery would be any more accommodating. But he was willing to wager that there would be larger desks. He sweetened the deal. “I believe you could eat dinner there, too.”

“With you?”

“Yes.”

Gojyo’s smile had been blinding and it had made Hakkai’s stomach feel fluttery with butterflies.

Later, dinner the first night had Hakkai’s stomach churning.

It started off with a misunderstanding.

“Hakkai, are you sure he’s a priest?” Gojyo hadn’t bothered to lower his voice, Hakkai assumed, because he was speaking English.

Sanzo glared at the meal Hakkai had placed before him, then stabbed a chunk of summer squash with a chopstick.

Hakkai tried to catch Gojyo’s eye, but he was still gaping at Sanzo. Hakkai followed his gaze. Well, he wasn’t looking very priestly; he and Goku had just come in from playing catch, and Sanzo wasn’t dressed in his customary robes. He was wearing a pair of denim jeans and a sleeveless black shirt that showed off his well-sculpted biceps and shoulders. Both he and Goku had been sweating, and their hair stuck was messy and stuck up at odd angles.

“He must be a chick magnet!”

Sanzo threw his chopsticks down and Hakkai thought his scowl would burn a hole through Gojyo’s forehead.

“Gojyo, Buddhist monks are celibate,” Hakkai explained.

“Now that’s a cryin’ shame.” Gojyo whistled for emphasis.

“Hakkai, what’s a ‘chick magnet?’” Goku asked, tucking into his plate full of steamed vegetables over rice noodles, topped with chopped sweet omelet.

“Something Sha is obviously not,” Sanzo said through gritted teeth.

To Gojyo’s credit, the surprise of Sanzo and Goku conversing in English didn’t leave him speechless. But rather than apologize, he looked at Sanzo slightly puzzled. “Aren’t monks supposed to be bald?” he asked with a straight face.

Not even Goku was _that_ innocent. Hakkai willed away the smile that threatened.

Sanzo’s look was murderous. “Aren’t Americans supposed to be smart?” His accent was the perfect mimic of Gojyo’s drawl.

“I’ve made some cobbler from the orchard apples, Goku, would you like a slice?”

And so a routine was established.

After a few days of suffering through similar interludes, it occurred to Hakkai that Gojyo and Sanzo derived some strange enjoyment from trading insults, first in English and then, later, as Gojyo became more confident with his facility in the language, in Japanese.

 

His modest meal finished, Hakkai cleaned his bento and chopsticks and then made his way out to the recess area. As he got closer, the sounds of children playing grew louder and louder.

A storm was imminent, the sky was getting darker by the second, but Hakkai was loath to call them in a second before he had to; the peals of laughter and joyful screams were reason enough.

“Sensei! Come play with us!”

Hakkai shook his head. “I don’t know the first thing about baseball.”

“C’mon _sensei_! The kids need a hit. Step on up to the plate.”

The boys who were on the side that had been at bat surrounded Hakkai, all clamoring for him to join in.

“All right, all right, you win,” he chuckled. He walked up to the roughed-in batter’s box and peered at the pitcher standing on a makeshift mound. “But Riku, if you hit me with that ball, you’ll get double homework tonight.”

The boy’s eyes widened.

“I’m only joking, Riku-san!”

“Are you a lefty or a righty?” Gojyo asked. He was holding a bat with the end sawed down. “Oh,” he looked at it and frowned. ”You’ll need something bigger -- the kids don’t have the power to bring a full-size bat around fast enough.” He tossed the bat to the side and found another -- this one much longer -- in a pile of equipment.

Hakkai looked at him blankly.

“Right-handed or left-handed, sensei.” He was wearing a smile again, one that Hakkai thought he could drown in.

“Right,” Hakkai replied.

“Okay, so you need to hold the bat like this.” Gojyo stood with his feet shoulder-width apart and bent his knees slightly, gripping the bat and holding it over his right shoulder. “The ball comes in, you swing at it.”

“Seems simple enough,” Hakkai said uncertainly.

“It’s a cinch.”

Maybe, for Gojyo it was, but several swings later, Hakkai had yet to make contact with the ball. Gojyo was crouched slightly behind him, catching the ball that seemed to come toward Hakkai at excessively high speed.

“You’re way behind the ball. You’re not swinging ‘til it’s over the plate.”

 _Thwap!_ Gojyo easily caught the ball and tossed it back to Riku in one graceful movement.

“Choke up -- move your hands together -- on the bat a little more, and lift your left elbow.”

 _Thwap!_

“You gotta try to swing a little earlier, get in front of the ball.”

 _Thwap!_

Hakkai stepped back from the box. “This isn’t working, Gojyo.” Riku was grinning from ear to ear and some of the boys were laughing. Hakkai felt his cheeks burn hotly.

“Yeah, I can see that. Give me a sec.” Gojyo stood and motioned to the boys out in the field. “Kaito! Come here and catch while I help sensei!”

Gojyo stepped around Hakkai and stood behind him. He toed Hakkai’s right foot, opening his stance a bit, and then moved to work on the position of his hands on the bat. Gojyo had long, graceful fingers. They were strong, too.

“Pull the bat back ‘til it feels comfortable.” His voice was so close that Hakkai could feel his breath.

He did so, and then rested the wood on his shoulder. His ears buzzed with his pulse, making it difficult to concentrate.

“No, you gotta keep the bat up and ready.” Gojyo guided Hakkai’s left elbow until his arm was parallel to the ground.

“Okay Riku, nice and easy for sensei.”

Riku lobbed the ball over and Hakkai reached for it and came up empty. Kaito scrambled after the ball and then threw it back to the pitcher

“Here, maybe this will help.” Gojyo’s arms came around Hakkai and choked up on the bat over Hakkai’s hands. Hakkai could feel the hard contour of Gojyo’s body. It was doing shameful things to Hakkai’s. He’d seen the soldiers teaching the boys to swing the bat in the same manner, and thought nothing of it, it had seemed so natural. But there was nothing natural about the way his body was responding to Gojyo’s proximity.

Riku threw another ball, and before Hakkai had even thought to swing, Gojyo was forcing the bat around. It made contact with the ball, sending a grounder in the direction of third base. The boys on his side cheered.

“That’s what I meant about swinging in front of the ball.” He still had his arms around Hakkai. The contact felt good, too good. Hakkai pulled away suddenly, not missing the look of surprise and slight hurt that crossed Gojyo’s face.

 _The oak tree:  
not interested  
in cherry blossoms._

Hakkai felt a pang, and he searched for something to say to excuse his behavior. Just then, the sky opened up. Big, fat droplets began to fall, creating little puffs when they hit the dusty ground.

“Ahahah. Children, recess is over!” Hakkai stood awkwardly while the boys and girls who had been playing jump-rope and hop-scotch hurriedly lined up. He handed the bat back to Gojyo who’d begun to collect the equipment and was shoving it into a canvas duffel.

They would be soaked to the skin if they didn’t get inside soon.

“Thank you for the lesson, Corporal Sha.” Hakkai said.

Gojyo looked away from Hakkai and out at the field, which was quickly turning to mud. “It would be nicer if we had actual grass to play on.”

 

+++

 

“Gojyo, why did you want to learn Japanese?”

Gojyo put down the pen he’d been using to write out the numbers from one to ten in kanji. He glanced out the window where Goku and Sanzo were playing catch for a second before looking up.

“It’s complicated,” he said finally.

Hakkai remained silent and, when Gojyo said nothing further, he assumed the topic was one that would not be revisited.

“In 1944, my step-mother, my half-brother, and me were put in an internment camp.”

“I see.”

Hakkai remembered reading the propaganda the Japanese government had published about the camps -- how the Americans were turning on their own citizens of Japanese ancestry. In fact, there had recently been a small but significant influx of Japanese-American ex-patriots returning to their ancestral homeland.

“It was hard,” Gojyo continued. He picked up the pen and played with it. “I--I wasn’t really in touch with that side of my heritage. My mom was American, she was raising me on her own until …”

Gojyo frowned and Hakkai regretted asking him the question. Silently, he cursed his intrusiveness. But now, he was even more curious than he’d been before.

“I don’t know what it was between my mom and my dad, but one day this Japanese guy showed up on our doorstep and they both started crying. I was just a kid. It killed me to see my mom cry like that.

“He told me who he was and asked me if I wanted to meet my brother. Of course I did! I didn’t even know I had one until that moment, but when I found out, it was like God had answered all my prayers.”

Gojyo gripped the pen as if to write and began to mechanically press and lift it on the page of his composition book, leaving tiny indentations in the paper.

“I never saw my parents again after he dropped me off to meet him.”

“What happened?” Hakkai asked softly. He wondered, had there been an accident?

“It was a suicide pact.”

It was hard for Hakkai to believe that even in America -- the land of opportunity -- people could still be deeply unhappy.

“I’m sorry.”

Gojyo shrugged. “Whatever I suffered, it’s nothing compared to what happened here -- what you yourself have probably gone through.”

What he said next, though, made Hakkai wonder if that statement were true.

“My new mother hated me. I couldn’t blame her, either -- my father cheated on her and then dumped his bastard kid in her lap to raise.

“Being sent to camp, though, unhinged her. It wasn’t like she had a lot to lose, but she and my brother lost everything they did have when the government made us move. We went from living in a rented house in Seattle, to an army tent in the middle of a blazing, hot desert.

“She tried to kill me one night when I was sleeping. Still have the scars to prove it,” he pointed to his cheek. “Not long after that, I enlisted. I lied about my age and they were so desperate for recruits, I got in on a wink and a smile.

“I figured if someone was gonna try to kill me, I should at least have a chance to fight back.”

Gojyo grinned then, dispelling some of the pall that had fallen over the classroom where they were sitting. In the silence, Hakkai listened to the rhythmic _pop_ s of Sanzo and Goku’s game.

“Thing is, Hakkai, I never even _felt_ Japanese, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was my blood. So when this opportunity came up, I jumped at the chance for this assignment. I figured if I was gonna be categorized anyway, I might as well learn something about my father’s heritage.”

“What do you think of Japan?” Hakkai asked, collecting his instructional materials.

“Honestly? I’ve never felt more at home.” He reached across the desk and let his fingertips skim over Hakkai’s hand, before withdrawing. The atmosphere in the classroom changed, felt charged with electricity. Hakkai didn’t know what to make of it.

Gojyo stood and walked over to the open window. “That monk sure has an arm on him,” he observed.

Hakkai felt the mood lighten, but he still had a residual ache in his chest. Gojyo had shared something painful and personal with him, and he wanted to reciprocate.

“The war took its toll on Kyoto, even if the Allies didn’t.” He straightened his pile of papers and lined it up parallel to the edges of the desk.

“I had a twin sister. Kanan … you would have liked Kanan. There wasn’t a gentler soul alive. There wasn’t a stray animal that she wouldn’t bring home if she could have. She died two days before the Occupation forces reached Kyoto.”

“I’m sorry, man.” Gojyo’s voice was alarmingly close. Hakkai felt his pulse quicken when Gojyo rested his hand on his shoulder in an attempt to be comforting. Hakkai locked gazes with him and swallowed hard.

He stepped away and looked at Sanzo and Goku. Hakkai was envious of them, envious that each of them, in their own way, had been able to leave the past firmly where it belonged.

He turned back to Gojyo, his heart nearly breaking at the expression that was quickly hidden behind a grin. Hakkai folded his arms across his waist and took a deep breath, confused by the feelings that Gojyo’s story stirred up.

 _With every gust of wind,  
the butterfly changes its place  
on the willow._

“Sanzo’s been reluctant to allow Goku to come down to the school to play baseball,” he said. “Perhaps I could convince him to allow the children to play in the field here some time.”

“Ya think? It sure would beat the hell out of the dirt they’ve been playing on.”

“Gojyo? Thank you for telling me about your childhood.”

 

+++

 

It took several weeks to exert enough pressure on Sanzo in order for him to agree to turning one of the meadows on the monastery’s grounds into a baseball diamond. In the end, Hakkai wasn’t certain what had changed the monk’s mind -- the slow decline in the quality of his cooking, Goku’s incessant whining, or the colonel’s gentle cajoling. Gojyo, advisably, had remained silent, perhaps innately understanding that his input would only draw out the negotiations.

But once he’d given assent, Sanzo had impatiently overseen the work. It turned out he’d become quite the aficionado of the sport and demanded meticulous attention be paid to the distance between the bases (90 feet), and the distance from home plate and the height of the pitching mound (60 feet six inches in distance and 15 inches in height).

When it was done, though, and Goku had mowed the grass, it was a beautiful sight. The field quickly became a gathering place where Americans and Japanese alike came to watch the kids play after school. In the late afternoons, before sunset, adults would take the field. Recently, there was talk of organizing a league and of building more fields in the city, some with lights to make accommodations for night games.

 _The summer grasses  
All that remains  
Of brave soldiers dreams_

One evening, as they sat out on the temple’s veranda in the cool air, sipping beer, Colonel Samuels announced that he was retiring from military service.

“But you won’t be getting rid of me,” he laughed. “I’ve found a retirement home right here in the foothills.”

There had been gossip that the Occupation Forces were being withdrawn from Kyoto. Of course, if it were true, it would be classified information and not something that everyday citizens would be privy to, but there were indications that it was so. Soldiers were being dispatched to other bases throughout the country, and the temporary buildings that had been erected when they arrived were starting to be dismantled. Hakkai had recently been notified that the elementary school was being relocated to a permanent structure the following year. He had met the impending change with growing malaise. He told himself that he’d grown used to living and interacting with the Americans, but it was really one American in particular.

Gojyo greeted the colonel’s news with a slap to the man’s back and a warm embrace, and the two of them wandered off to a far corner of the platform deep in conversation.

When he returned from his conversation, Gojyo looked around at Goku, Sanzo and Hakkai.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking recently--“

“I already know this will be regrettable,” Sanzo remarked between sips. Hakkai steeled himself for their usual insult-laden banter, but Gojyo ignored the bait.

“I think I’m gonna follow the colonel’s lead. I’m nearly done with my tour an’ instead of re-enlisting, I’d like to move on to somethin’ else.”

“That means we’re stuck with your sorry ass?” Sanzo shook out a cigarette from a crumpled pack, and before Gojyo could bum one, handed it to him. “’bout time someone made a move,” he muttered under his breath.

He couldn’t mean … Hakkai mentally shook himself. It was impossible.

 _Will you turn toward me?  
I am lonely too,  
This autumn evening._

 

Hakkai didn’t know what had possessed him to leave the monastery with Gojyo when he announced he was going for a walk, and he knew even less about why he’d invited him into his home for something to drink after they’d strolled through the streets of the city. Kyoto was bustling after dark; restaurants and bars were open again, and warm light flooded the sidewalks from their entryways.

It was utter madness to lead Gojyo on, and yet Hakkai didn’t want him to go back to the barracks just yet. The thought of them both crawling into their respective beds alone seemed hideously depressing. Besides a light touch here and there or a gaze held just a millisecond longer than necessary, Gojyo had never so much as hinted that he was attracted to Hakkai, but Hakkai knew, just as he knew that his invitation would more than likely be misconstrued.

He cast a critical eye about his house, embarrassed by its threadbare modesty. Inside of it, Gojyo looked larger than life; he filled the cramped living room with his oversized personality.

“Nice place you got.” He caught Hakkai’s eye and the smile he wore was sincere, and he toed off his boots without Hakkai even having to ask, so that was something.

Hakkai couldn’t see it as nice, not after he’d seen photographs of typical American homes; they were sumptuous in comparison to his utilitarian house. They had actual rooms; his house was divided into rooms by shoji doors.

“What would you like to drink?”

“Beer, if you have any.”

He did. There were a couple of ancient bottles stuck in the far corner of his even older refrigerator but the brew was still clear when he held a bottle up to the light.

When he came back into the living room, Gojyo had picked up Kanan’s book and was studying a page.

“It’s the poetry of Basho,” Hakkai explained, offering Gojyo one of the bottles. He took it, then _chink_ ed it against Hakkai’s.

“Yeah? You like this stuff?”

“It was my sister’s book.”

Gojyo looked stricken. He closed the cover and set it back on the low table in the center of the room where it had been lying. Hakkai noticed a thin layer of dust around the space it had occupied. He was behind on his housework.

“I’m sorry, man.”

“It’s all right, Gojyo, you didn’t know. And even if you did, it wouldn’t have mattered,” Hakkai added. Kanan would have liked Gojyo; he would have made her laugh. Gojyo tipped his head back and took a healthy swig of the beer; Hakkai watched his Adam’s apple rise and fall with each sip.

“Basho is quite a national treasure.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” He stepped closer to Hakkai.

Hakkai recited a haiku from memory:

“’In this world of ours,  
We eat only to cast out,  
Sleep only to wake,  
And what comes after all that  
Is simply to die at last.’”

“Damn, where’s the fun in that?” Gojyo commented.

“Where’s the joy in living?” Hakkai replied. He took a sip of his beer.

“It’s better than the alternative.”

“Can you guarantee that?”

Gojyo looked past Hakkai. Hakkai knew he was looking at the portrait of Kanan.

“Could you tell me about her?” He asked, then drained his bottle. He placed it on the table. For a brief second, Hakkai wondered if it would leave a water ring, then decided he wouldn’t mind if it did.

He followed suit, took a deep breath then exhaled.

“There’s not much to say that I haven’t already told you. For the longest time, I thought if I could remember all the poems Kanan loved, I could somehow keep her alive.”

Gojyo encircled his shoulders with his arms; Hakkai was grateful for the contact.

“And now?”

“She’s just dust, Gojyo, that’s all she’ll ever be.”

Gojyo let him go and Hakkai felt as if he were slowly sinking into an abyss. He wanted to reach out for Gojyo, but his arms stubbornly remained by his sides. Gojyo turned Hakkai to face him.

“No, that isn’t ‘all,’ Hakkai. She’ll always live here,” he said, placing his palm flat on Hakkai’s chest.

Warmth from his touch radiated throughout Hakkai’s body. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment.

“Hakkai,” Gojyo’s voice was rough with emotion. “May I kiss you?”

Hakkai wanted to say ‘no.’ He wanted to ask ‘How dare you! How dare you capitalize on my grief?’ But those words would have been lies. Gojyo had opened up to him, had shared his own shameful past and journey toward redemption and understanding. Hakkai wasn’t sure Gojyo was any closer to the answers he sought than he was. Nor was he certain that either would ever find any that remotely satisfied their questions.

“I would like that very much,” he replied softly.

Gojyo cupped his face with hands and Hakkai briefly opened his eyes before allowing them to flutter closed again when he felt Gojyo’s lips press gently against his. Almost immediately, he felt Gojyo’s tongue sweep along his lower lip briefly before the taste of beer echoed in his mouth as Gojyo deepened the kiss, drawing Hakkai against him in a needful embrace.

For a second, fear gripped Hakkai as he felt control slipping away. And then he let go, his cool façade crumbling. Suddenly, kissing wasn’t enough. He wanted to lose himself, to shut away all the pain, the grief, the longing, or to share it with someone else, even if the relief might only be temporary. He pushed Gojyo away, but only far enough to slip his hand between them.

Hakkai’s fingers flew to the buttons of Gojyo’s uniform; urgently pushing each through its buttonhole. He yanked at the shirttails when he reached Gojyo’s waist, then pushed the opened shirt off Gojyo’s shoulders. He was wearing an undershirt. Over it, his dog tag hung from a long ball chain.

“That’s not very fair of you,” Gojyo teased. His fingers nimbly addressed the buttons on Hakkai’s shirt.

“We’re still not even,” Hakkai said after Gojyo had finished removing his shirt. Wordlessly, Gojyo lifted the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. It joined the other clothing on the tatami mat. His body was as beautiful as Hakkai had imagined it would be.

“Is that better?” Gojyo’s eyes crinkled at the corners; he was smiling.

“Much.” Hakkai smiled back and realized it was genuine.

This time they came together, skin against skin, hands greedily exploring each other. By the time Gojyo finally got around to the bulge in his pants, Hakkai thought he would come right there. He reciprocated by sliding his hand along the hard length that mirrored his own.

“Hakkai …” Gojyo moaned against his lips before his teeth nipped lightly at Hakkai’s lower lip. “I’m not looking for a one-time thing.”

Hakkai thought his heart would burst through his ribs. “Then we’re on the same page.” He stopped for a second, then ran his fingers through Gojyo’s close-cropped hair, then pulled him closer once again.

Gojyo’s hands wandered lower. He rested his forehead against Hakkai’s, then cupped his ass and snapped their hips together. Gojyo ground against him in a tantalizingly slow rhythm. Hakkai’s arousal spiked and a fine sweat broke out all over his body.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Gojyo’s eyes were half closed.

“Mmhmm,” Hakkai hummed in response. He took Gojyo’s hands in his, and then walked backwards toward his bedroom, pulling Gojyo with him. He reached behind his back to slide the door open. The room was just as bare as the living room, but it had a comfortable mattress.

“Can you stay?” he asked between teasing licks to the corners of Gojyo’s mouth. He lay down and Gojyo stretched out beside him.

“The colonel gave me permission to remain off base tonight,” he said sheepishly.

“Oh, you thought you were going to get lucky?” Hakkai undid the belt at Gojyo’s waist.

“Ever the optimist,” Gojyo gasped when Hakkai took his cock firmly in his hand, “That’s me.” Hakkai gave a squeeze and then tugged. “Hoshit! Do that again!” Gojyo ‘s dick was hot and hard, and Hakkai was happy to oblige his demand.

Gojyo rolled on his side and worked at Hakkai’s fly until he could wrap his hand around his erection and squeezed. Being touched like that -- by Gojyo -- was undeniably wonderful. Hakkai gulped a ragged breath. Gojyo dipped his head and laid a trail of open-mouthed kisses across Hakkai’s chest before his tongue swept over one of his nipples. Hakkai arched his back and Gojyo’s mouth engulfed the hardening peak. He sucked on it, drawing more skin into his mouth.

“Gojyo,” Hakkai whispered, “I’m so close.”

Gojyo’s grip tightened on Hakkai’s cock and he stroked him faster. Hakkai ground his hips frantically into the friction. Gojyo’s other arm snaked around Hakkai’s waist, anchoring him as his hand slid along the dips and knobs of Hakkai’s spine. Just when Hakkai thought he could no longer take the feel of Gojyo’s lips and tongue and hands teasing his skin, he was overtaken by a sudden climax; his hips still undulated for a few seconds more as a haze of carnal pleasure enveloped him. As his pulse began to slow, Hakkai realize that Gojyo’s dick was still hard. Gojyo nuzzled his face against Hakkai’s neck and covered his hand with his own.

“Hakkai, please.” The needy tone in his muffled request was electrifying and Hakkai wanted nothing more than to see and feel Gojyo come -- to make him feel as good as he’d just made Hakkai feel. Together, they pumped his dick in a torturously slow rhythm, Gojyo’s soft groans and nearly inaudible curses whispered against Hakkai’s skin devolving into a mantra of Hakkai’s name as his dick pulsed in Hakkai’s hand. When he finally came, Hakkai felt Gojyo’s warm spend leaking over his fingers and his teeth sinking against the crook of his neck.

Later, Hakkai lay awake, glancing over at Gojyo’s sleeping form to assure himself that he was still there. Each time it was confirmed, he smiled.

 _Cold as it was  
We felt secure sleeping together  
In the same room._

For the first time in a long time, sleep came quickly to Hakkai and with it a sense of peace that he would no longer be passing his nights alone.


End file.
